eternal sunshine of the spotless mind
by xfucktheglasses
Summary: Of Sasuke, a home that is not a home, and a cold bench. —Sasuke-centric, Ch.616.


Hi, it's time for me writing Sasuke. Because I love Sasuke so much, it is actually unhealthy and I will not tolerate anyone talking him down to me; you dislike him, that's fine but I don't care, save it for someone who gives a shit or two.

Anyway, my paranoia aside, please enjoy me going inside Sasuke's head.

**eternal sunshine of the spotless mind****  
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The sky is still dark, the moon is full and the air smells of leaves and burnt wood.

The soil below the soles of his boots is moist and every step echoes with a squelch. But his steps are even and his back is straight and his shoulders are squared and it feels like a walk a shame, almost. Only almost, but he refuses to let that thought sink because he has not returned and he does not plan to return until every single demon within his mind is silenced, until his questions are answered and until his beliefs are set straight.

The gates come into view and he eyes them almost clinically.

Everything feels like a foreign memory—a lifetime ago disguised as nothing but three years.

If he pays close attention he can catch a lost boy, hollow to his very core, leaving the village with his eyes downcast and an electrifying sting going up and down his spine. But it's all gone in a blink of an eye and all that is left is a shadow of a sixteen year old shinobi gone rogue, forced to grow up too fast and life finally demanding he slow down.

He feels confused, this shadow—this sixteen year old man. Confused, lost, cold, angry—god, he is so angry.

He takes an even breath in, and he exhales a second later. The scent of home lingers in the back of his mouth and if he had no self-control he'd try to rip his tongue out, stomp at it until it disappears for ever allowing such a suggestion float anywhere near him, let alone inside him—let alone have it burn onto his mind.

This place stopped being home years ago.

They step through the gates and Sasuke pauses, his eyes hungrily drinking up every single detail of the village that still hosted every single one of his nightmares—different nightmares, now, but nightmares nonetheless.

Some of the buildings are being rebuilt, some are nothing like the ones in the memories he pushes out of his mind, and some are still intact. Some buildings actually have their lights on. The Hokage tower is exactly as he remembers it, and if he would bother, he could easily catch Ichiraku's ramen stand—but he won't. He will not look that way because then he will feel like he is giving in to a feeling he refuses to welcome.

His eyes stare at the Hokage monument—the First, the Second, the Third, the Fourth and the Fifth.

With what Itachi told him—no. With what Itachi _showed_ him, Sasuke does not know how he feels towards Sarutobi; he supposes he is not at fault for his clan's murder, and the actual culprit is dead and his blood stains Sasuke's flesh like an award. But Sasuke has been drowning in resent for half of his lifetime; he cannot seem to comprehend when it is blinding him, seducing him into falling because it is easier, or when it is an actual genuine feeling.

So he looks away, and takes two steps forwards.

And freezes upon feeling a chakra signature that is too familiar to be of any comfort.

He looks up, again, turning to look over his shoulder, eyes searching—but no.

No.

He must be out trying to save the world, he muses with a minor hint of disgust.

Sasuke scoffs, turning back and waking forwards.

"We're leaving," he drawls, passing Orochimaru and already listening to Suigetsu and Juugo following after him. "Hurry up and lead the way, Orochimaru."

But he pauses, one last time and his eyes slowly turn to the left.

His brow furrows in a feeling he cannot quite place, head tilting so he can have a better view of what has captured his attention. And it looks as cold as it did that night, three years ago.

Sasuke swallows, not at all forced—he is calm, serene if not somewhat pensive.

The bench looks exactly the same as it did, three years ago. Cold, hard and gray and his lips press into a thin line as the dam holding back all the memories break and he is suddenly watching that same lost boy from before, placing a broken girl on top of that bench, shifting her—her legs and her arms and her head so she wouldn't have any trouble the following day, getting lost in his actions enough to tap his forefinger against the tear that fell down her cheek.

He remembers the boy staring at the moisture on the pad of his finger, and Sasuke narrows his eyes because that broken girl tried to kill him, not too long ago, and that lost boy didn't hesitate an attempt to pierce his jutsu through her chest.

Sasuke blinks his eyes, swallows a bit more thickly and stares at the bench for a second longer before turning and walking away.

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(CHLOE IT'S YOUR TURN IT'S PROBABLY BETTER THAN MINE.)

Plz review (:


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